‘Going in, luv?’
Pamela Riley shot a look at the fellow who was holding open the door to the Duke of Edinburgh pub.
‘You going in?’ he repeated as she hesitated then took a step away. ‘Who you after?’ He’d guessed she’d been looking for somebody inside, and had been peering through the glass panel to see if they were present before entering.
‘Matilda Keiver,’ Pamela blurted. ‘I know she used to drink here a lot.’
‘Old Tilly …’ The man barked a laugh. ‘Oh, yeah, she’s still a regular. Don’t come in now as much as she used to, but she can sink a few, considering she’s getting on a bit.’ He glanced at his watch, nodding to himself. ‘You might be lucky; she could be along for a dinnertime snifter.’ He studied Pamela, noting her dull, sensible appearance. She didn’t look, or sound, as though she was a friend of Matilda’s. She had the air of a middle-aged housewife from a better part of town. He guessed her to be at least twenty years Matilda’s junior, but then old Tilly got along with most folk, as long as they hadn’t upset her or her family in some way. If they had, she’d be down on them like a ton of bricks.
‘Thanks for letting me know she’s still about,’ Pamela said, noting the man was still holding the door slightly ajar. ‘I’ll just hang on here a bit longer and if she doesn’t turn up … I’ll be on my way.’ She shrugged further into her coat.
He smiled at her, thinking if she made an effort with a bit of make-up, and took that ugly old hat off her hair, she wouldn’t be a bad-looking woman for her age. It occurred to him that she might be waiting outside for a friend to get her a drink, because she was on hard times. Matilda was known to be keen to have a drinking pal, and generous in that respect. ‘Come on … I’ll buy you one if you’re a bit short.’ He pushed the door open.
‘No thanks,’ Pam returned curtly. ‘If I wanted a drink I’d pay for it myself.’
‘Suit yerself, luv,’ the man replied, unperturbed. He started off, then retraced his steps. ‘She don’t live that far away, y’know. If you go round Whadcoat Street you’ll probably find her in.’
‘Don’t know it. All I know is she used to live in Campbell Road.’
‘Yeah, that’s it. Campbell Road. Now it’s Whadcoat Street.’
Pamela frowned at him. She’d walked along Seven Sisters Road and glanced at the turning into Campbell Road, seeing nothing but squalid houses and a few workmen in the distance doing slum clearance. The Bunk had always been a dump, but she’d assumed now it was uninhabited. It hadn’t occurred to her to check the street name, high up on the wall.
‘Whadcoat Street?’ she said, in surprise. ‘Why’d they bother changing its name now they’re pulling it all down?’
‘Obviously you ain’t been back in a while, duck,’ the fellow chuckled. ‘Street names got altered right back in the thirties. Gawd knows why; didn’t make a blind bit of difference to what went on down there. The Bunk’s The Bunk … always will be.’ He rubbed his hands together, then puffed into them.
It was an early December day and there was a bitter breeze blowing. Pamela was also feeling chilled and had half-turned away from him to protect her cold cheeks from a buffeting. She hunched up her shoulders to her ears and continued listening to what he’d got to say.
‘Paddington Street’s now Biggerstaff Road, see, ’cos that name got changed as well,’ the fellow explained. ‘Pen pushers with nothing better to do I suppose … can’t leave nuthin’ alone.’
‘Matilda still lives down there, even though they’re knocking it down?’ Pam couldn’t disguise her astonishment, or her scepticism.
‘Yeah, and she’s not on her own neither. Should’ve seen the crowd they had down there Bonfire Night.’ He shook his head in amusement at the memory. ‘Weren’t as lively as it used to be in its heyday, but had a good time. Bit of a tradition, ain’t it, Bonfire Night and The Bunk. Went down there meself November 5th. Never miss it.’ He sauntered off, whistling. A moment later he was gesticulating at her and pointing across the road.
It took Pam a moment to realise he was letting her know that Matilda was on her way.
Pamela felt her insides knotting in anxiety despite the fact that the person progressing slowly in her direction seemed quite unintimidating. The Matilda of old had always had a bounce in her stride; this woman had a slight limp and was dumpy of figure rather than solidly built. Her hair was no longer a fiery flaxen shade, but colourless. It was plaited, as Pamela remembered it often had been, and coiled in buns pinned on either side of her head. If the fellow hadn’t indicated this elderly woman’s identity she would never have known her.
But then she didn’t expect Matilda to recognise her either.
Last time they’d spoken, Pamela had been an overweight, fresh-faced blonde in her twenties. She had no illusions as to how she looked now, even before a glance sideways at the pub’s windows reflected back at her the thin, lined face of a faded woman who looked older than her forty-four years. Her thick fair hair had once been her pride and joy; now she mostly went out wearing a hat to cover the fact her crowning glory was wispy, and a silvery shade of mouse.
‘After you,’ Matilda said as she saw a woman hovering in front of her by the pub’s door.
‘No … it’s alright … I’ve … I’m just waiting …’
Matilda squinted at the woman getting in her way, thinking something about her seemed familiar, but she was unsure what it was. Then a fragment of memory made her think of a woman with a small dimple in her chin and a high-pitched voice, who’d once been part of the family. She’d been giving Pamela Plummer some thought lately but even so it seemed hard to believe that …
‘You’re Matilda Keiver, aren’t you,’ Pamela blurted out. ‘You won’t remember me … it was years and years ago you last spoke to me …’
‘I know you,’ Matilda said, cocking her head, her eyes fixing on Pam with fierce directness. ‘Bleedin’ hell, you’re right … it was a while ago … about twenty-five years if I remember correctly.’
‘Twenty-three, and I haven’t come to cause trouble,’ Pam immediately burst out. Suddenly the years were peeling away. It seemed only yesterday she’d last had those probing eyes on her. A short while after that, Pam had left the Islington area for good, and hadn’t been back since.
‘What have you come for then, Pamela?’ Matilda asked evenly. ‘’Cos whatever it is, I think you ’n’ me know it is gonna cause a ruckus of some sort. But that might not be a bad thing.’
Pamela’s thin lips twisted into a smile. Matilda might look past it, but her mind seemed as sharp as it had been when she’d been ducking and diving as one of The Bunk’s rent collectors.
Pam had hoped to winkle out of Matilda a few titbits of information about Christopher, so she’d know a little about his life, and could hug it close to her, when she went back to her own existence in Bexleyheath. Instead, she fished in her bag and brought out a five-pound note. Matilda was too cute to give away a thing. Pam knew if she found out anything about her son, it would be because Matilda Keiver wanted her to know it.
‘Would you give this to Christopher, for me?’ Pam asked hoarsely. ‘He did a job for me, but went off without getting paid. I don’t take charity.’
‘Christopher don’t give charity, not if I know him,’ Matilda returned flatly. ‘What he might want to give you, as you’re his mother, is a bit of his time and a bit of his help.’
The five-pound note, in Pam’s outstretched fingers, wavered then got dropped to her side. ‘I want him to have it. He did a good job. But I don’t know where he lives to send it.’
‘He lives at home with his dad still.’
‘Well, in that case …’
‘In that case, you’d sooner set off back home with your fiver than come face to face with Stevie.’
‘I’d sooner you take it and give it to him,’ Pam said shortly but shoved the banknote in a pocket. ‘I won’t be going to Stephen’s place. I told you, I haven’t come here to cause trouble … especially not for Christopher.’
‘Caused him enough of that when he was little, didn’t you, Pam.’
‘Yeah …’ Pamela immediately set off. She stopped after a few yards and twisted about to find Matilda watching her, but not maliciously. ‘Is that what you wanted to hear? I admit I did something terrible, but rest assured I’ve paid for it.’
Matilda took a few steps after her. ‘Usually the way, ain’t it, Pam? The lord pays debts without money …’
‘Does Christopher know … has Stephen told him I nearly … hurt him badly?’
Matilda shook her head. ‘Stevie started off telling him you was dead. I let him know I didn’t think that was right, and in the end he told Chris the truth. But Stevie’s said as little about you as he thought he could get away with.’
Pam grimaced a sour acceptance at hearing that. ‘You don’t seem surprised that I’ve seen Christopher.’
‘I ain’t. I knew he’d find you.’ Matilda walked back to the pub and pushed the door handle. ‘Come on, inside … you’ve come all this way from Bexleyheath to give the boy his fiver, least I can do is get you a drink to warm you on yer way home. Bleedin’ freezing again today, ain’t it.’ When Pam hesitated, Matilda added, ‘Lot of water gawn under the bridge, Pam. You needn’t think I’m gonna get at you fer what went on.’ With a jerk of her head she invited Pam to precede her into the Duke pub.
Matilda gestured for Pam to put away her purse and indicated a little table cosily tucked into a corner. ‘Park yerself over there outta the draught and I’ll get the drinks. Still a gin ’n’ orange fer you is it, Pam?’
‘I’ll have a small sherry if that’s alright,’ Pam answered with a twitch of the lips. ‘I want to get back to Bexleyheath in one piece.’
‘Small sherry it is, and I think I might have one of them ’n’ all fer a change,’ Matilda said.
It was a popular pub but today there were very few people who’d ventured out in the bitter cold to enjoy a dinnertime snifter. Most of the drinkers were regulars, like Matilda, and greeted her by name as she ambled by on her way to the bar. As she waited for the landlord to fetch the drinks Matilda turned to look at Pam, gazing into space. Her face was careworn and Matilda knew without a shadow of a doubt that life hadn’t been kind to her.
‘’S’pect you got a right surprise on seeing Christopher, didn’t you?’ Matilda put the drinks down and eased herself into a chair with a contented sigh. ‘Nice to get off me feet,’ she murmured, giving Pam a moment to consider her reply.
‘Knocked me for six when he introduced himself,’ Pam admitted quietly and took a sip of sherry. ‘Then when I’d calmed down I wished I’d acted differently. But it was too late, he’d driven off.’
‘But he must’ve been back to fix your gate.’
‘Came over and did the job when I was out,’ Pam said. ‘Kind of him to do it, all things considered …’
‘He is kind,’ Matilda said. ‘He’s grown into a fine young man.’
Pam nodded and turned her head to shield the sudden glisten in her eyes.
After a short silence Matilda asked, ‘Did you get married again, Pam?’ She had noticed the younger woman absently twisting a gold band on her finger.
‘Yeah … married Stan in 1939, not long before the war started. He was a good man. Joined up straight away … got injured badly.’ Pam’s brief account of her second marriage tailed off and she blinked. ‘Didn’t have much luck with husbands one way or another.’ She picked up her sherry and took a swallow.
‘Survive his injuries?’ Matilda enquired, although she’d guessed that he hadn’t.
Pam shook her head. ‘Buried him in 1944. He was in a wheelchair for a while … we didn’t have any kids …’ Her voice faded. ‘How about you, Matilda?’ she asked. ‘I know you lost Jack in the Great War.’
‘Yeah … lost my Jack, God rest him,’ Matilda said gruffly. ‘Lost Reg too in 1943. You wouldn’t have known him but I was with Reg Donovan for over fifteen years although we never made it official.’
‘Is Christopher married? Does he have any children?’ Pam suddenly blurted out the thought that had been rotating in her mind for many weeks. The idea of being a granny, even from afar, had coated her insides with warm pleasure.
Matilda smiled. ‘Not got a wife or kids yet, but he’s got a lovely girlfriend called Grace and I reckon it’s getting serious.’
‘Good,’ Pam murmured, smiling at her sherry. She swallowed the small amount left in her glass and drew a five-pound note from her pocket. ‘Would you pass this on to him, please?’
‘’Course … if you don’t want to give it to him yerself.’
Matilda could tell that Pam was angling to leave, but she had a few more questions she’d like answers to before she let her escape. ‘Did you stick around in London after you and Stevie split up?’
Pam glanced up to find Matilda’s gimlet eyes on her. ‘Stayed with my parents for a while. They moved off to Cambridge and I went as well for a year and helped out in their draper’s shop. But it didn’t work out so as soon as I could I got myself a job and moved back to London. I worked in a hotel on the Strand as a chambermaid. Pay wasn’t up to much but I got board and lodgings.’
‘How’s yer mum and dad keeping?’
‘Dad died a couple of years ago. Mum’s got a bungalow in Cambridge. Don’t see her very often.’
‘They must’ve been pleased to see you settle down for a second time.’
‘Nothing I did pleased them after what happened …’ Pam pursed her thin lips. ‘Another sherry?’ she asked quickly, standing up.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Matilda answered, upending her glass.
Pam took the empty schooners and went to the bar.
‘Not having one yerself?’ Matilda asked when Pam returned and put down just one small sherry.
‘Got quite a journey to make, better get going.’ Pam buttoned her coat. ‘Gets dark so early this time of year.’
‘Yeah,’ Matilda said. ‘Well, you take care of yerself, won’t you.’
Pamela looked at the five-pound note. She put a couple of fingers on it and pushed it across the table close to Matilda’s glass. ‘I’d be obliged if you’d pass that on.’
‘You can give it to Chris yerself, you know. He’s just down Whadcoat Street, where I live, doing the demolition on the houses up one end.’
Pam’s startled eyes darted to Matilda. A moment later she gave a quick shake of the head. ‘I’d be obliged if you’d pass it on,’ she repeated before turning to head out of the pub.
Pamela stopped at the top of Whadcoat Street and gazed into the distance. No men were visible now, just parked vans. She realised her son must have gone inside one of the properties to work.
Much as she longed to see Christopher, and talk to him, she couldn’t do that. It wasn’t just that her unexpected appearance was sure to embarrass him in front of his colleagues: she felt completely drained following her talk with Matilda. Yet Matilda had been true to her word and had avoided bringing up the reason for the bitter split between her and Stephen all those years ago. Pam knew she’d need to replenish her courage before directly approaching her son.
She stood a while longer, hunched into her coat, hoping perhaps he might come out and go to his van, just so she’d get a glimpse of him before she set off home. Somebody did emerge from a house but she knew it wasn’t Christopher. The fellow was too short and too plump – nothing like her tall, handsome son. Pamela glanced back the way she’d just come; she knew if she loitered too long she might find Matilda bearing down on her on her way home from the Duke and she’d said all she wanted to say today to Christopher’s great-aunt. With a final yearning stare, she turned to walk briskly on towards her transport home.
‘Cold enough for you, Mrs K?’
‘Taters, ain’t it, Ted. Chris in there, is he?’ Matilda shuffled on the pavement to keep warm.
‘Upstairs, he is. Want him?’
‘Tell him to come along ’n’ see me when he’s got a mo, will you?’
Ted nodded and ambled back inside carrying a shovel on his shoulder.
‘Yer aunt’s lookin’ for you.’
Chris wiped dust from his eyes to blink at Ted.
‘She said can you go ’n’ see her.’
‘Have to be when I finish later. Ain’t urgent, is it?’
‘Didn’t seem like it,’ Ted said.
Chris remembered he’d meant to call in and see his aunt when he was halfway home to Crouch End. He’d worked late, as he’d promised his uncle he would, until the generator had packed up and the light had gone. It was seven-thirty when he turned around and returned to Whadcoat Street to bang on his aunt’s door.
The sash above his head was shoved up. ‘Took yer time, didn’t you? Thought you’d gawn off home and forgotten about me.’ The sash banged home again.
‘Sorry it’s late,’ Chris said with a smile. ‘Trying to get things back on schedule up there.’
‘Thought perhaps Ted had forgotten to give you me message.’ Matilda stuck the kettle on the hob. ‘Not had yer tea yet, then?’ She ran a look over his mucky overalls.
Chris shook his head and sat down close to the little stove. It was surprisingly cosy in the room once the door was shut and the many scrappy draught excluders were wedged in place.
‘Get stuck into them biscuits then, you must be starving.’ Matilda knew she was playing for time. It was unlike her not to come straight out and say what was on her mind. But she didn’t want to seem to be prying. Christopher and his mum seemed to be making headway without any help or interference from anybody else.
Chris took two digestives. ‘Hope me dad’s got a nice hotpot on the go … me belly thinks me throat’s been cut.’
‘Don’t know how lucky you are, having a dad like that.’
‘Yeah … I know …’ Chris took a bite out of a digestive.
‘Saw yer mum today.’
The biscuit hovered in front of Chris’s mouth then was dropped to his lap. ‘Who d’you see?’ he asked in a squeak that betrayed he thought his ears had deceived him.
‘Pam came over and had a drink with me in the Duke.’
Chris gawped at his aunt. ‘Did she come over to tell you I’m making a nuisance of meself?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘Did she say to stop going there?’
‘No … nuthin’ like that. She came over to give me this and ask me to pass it on.’ Matilda took the five-pound note off the mantelshelf and placed it down on the table close to Chris’s mug of tea. ‘Wanted you to be paid for the job you done her.’ She smiled at him. ‘Fixed her on a gate, didn’t you?’
‘Didn’t want no pay for it. Wrote her a note and told her I didn’t want nuthin’.’
‘You don’t want to be paid, and she says she don’t want no charity, so you’re gonna have to sort that one out between yourselves. But I reckon that’s not the only reason Pam came over to see me. She wanted to find out a little bit about you. Just like you’ve been wanting to find out a little bit about her.’
Chris lifted his eyes to his aunt, a spark of optimism in their depths. ‘She wasn’t angry? She didn’t tell you to tell me to stay away from her?’
‘No, she didn’t.’
Chris took the banknote. ‘I’ll buy her some flowers with it.’ He glanced bashfully at his aunt.
‘She’s had a rough time of it, you know, Chris. Lost her second husband not long after they was married.’
‘Yeah … I know …’
‘Who told you? Pam said you’ve not spoken more’n a couple of words ’cos the shock of seeing you was too much for her at first.’
‘One of her neighbours came up and started talking to me when I was working on her gate. I didn’t ask no questions, the old girl just told me.’
‘Does Stevie know you’ve been over there?’
Chris shook his head. ‘Nobody knew about me going over, only Grace.’
Matilda sipped her tea. ‘You’ll have to tell him, Chris. I know you probably don’t want to upset the apple cart now things are settling down, but it’s only fair you tell your dad that you’ve met your mum.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Him and Pearl are getting stuck into their new business so now might be the right time, while he’s occupied elsewhere.’
‘Don’t know how to go about it.’
‘Come straight out and tell him, son. Honesty’s the best policy, so they say.’
Chris dwelled on his aunt’s advice as he slowly drove home, smiling, enveloped in a sense of thrilling anticipation, the like of which he’d not experienced since he was a boy waiting for Christmas.
He wasn’t expecting a wonderful relationship to spring up between himself and his mother; a comfortable atmosphere between them would suffice for now. And it would content him to have a little bit of knowledge about his other relatives, especially his grandparents.
The next time Chris arrived in Bexleyheath he hoped his mum would be at home. He took a deep breath, rat-tatted politely, then waited.
He loosened his collar from his bobbing throat when he heard footsteps approaching. Quickly he shoved a hand across his hair to neaten it.
‘Got you these to say thanks for the money,’ he burst out. ‘But I didn’t want no pay so I hope you’ll take them and not think I’m bothering you.’ He thrust the huge bouquet towards Pamela. It had been the best bunch of flowers he could find in Bexleyheath High Street.
‘You should have kept the cash, not spent it on me; you paid out for the gate after all,’ Pam blurted after a shocked silence in which she’d blanched then flushed in mounting pleasure.
The scent of oriental lilies wafted on the air; her son had bought hothouse blooms that must have cost most of the five pounds she’d left for him with Matilda. Nobody had ever bought her such beautiful flowers. Neither of her husbands had been romantic or demonstrative men; but then she’d not been married long to either of them … certainly not to Christopher’s father.
She opened the door to its full extent so she could take hold of the arrangement without squashing it.
‘Will you come in for a cup of tea, Christopher?’ Her eyes rose to meet his.
‘No … not today … perhaps another time.’ Chris felt pleased that she’d used his name. ‘I’m in trouble with me boss for missing work recently and don’t want to lose me job. So better get going. Just wanted to say thanks for the money, but I didn’t want nothing. Just wanted to do you a good turn.’
‘Well, you must get off then, of course,’ Pam said with maternal concern, almost shooing him away. ‘Don’t get the sack because of me. Thank you very much for these.’ Pamela’s smile was strengthening as she became more relaxed. ‘They’re a beautiful selection …’
Chris took a step away, chest expanding in satisfaction. He wanted to stop and talk to her, but had decided on the way over to take things slowly. It wasn’t just the valid excuse of not getting into trouble with Rob over missing shifts. He knew it would be best not to overwhelm his mother with his presence after they’d spent such a long time apart. ‘I’ll come back another time … if that’s alright … ?’
Pam nodded and dragged her eyes from her son as she withdrew into her hallway. ‘Off you go then …’ she said softly, a moment before closing the door.